


Baby You're No Good For Me

by Sodafly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationships, Recreational Drug Use, post episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodafly/pseuds/Sodafly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Maybe Derek liked the less law abiding citizen Stiles could become, or maybe there was some oddly seductive about doing something shady with the sheriff’s son.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby You're No Good For Me

There are times when, yes, Derek really is the bad guy.

Not in the sense of ‘murdering physcopath’ bad guy which had been pinned to him more than once. Not in the sense of how Scott sees him, power hungry, backing stabbing with little care for anyone other than himself. The way Scott sees him is partly true, but despite what the teen thinks, Derek hasn’t ruined anyone’s life….in fact he’s done nothing but improve them. 

Derek is not quite the pantomime villain everyone wants him to be, but there are times when he really could be ‘the big bad wolf’.

Like now for instance.

 

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” The question is serious, deliberate, as Derek pauses to look up. Stiles is seated opposite him in the subway cart, situated awkwardly in the nest of blankets and pillows which act as Derek’s bed.  They’re sat together in the abandoned warehouse, rain which is pouring outside dripping onto the floor through the holes in the roof, and there’s a small bag of marijuana between their feet.

The bag is half empty, half the substance nested in a curled up piece of paper in Derek’s hand.

“See didn’t I say that the drug dealer rumours had to have some kind of substance, and here you are knowing how to roll up a joint.” Stiles says, eyes fixated on Derek as his tongue slides across the strip of the paper to seal it. “But no, no I have not. Surprisingly not a lot of people are willing to give illegal substances to the sheriff’s son. Getting that was no walk in the park.”

Derek is smirking as he twists each end of the join between his fingers.

“I’ll show you, and then you’ll never bother me with this ever again, deal?”

Derek had been half asleep when the alarm went off and he hadn’t been overjoyed to find Stiles in the stairwell, finger pressed down on the door buzzer without any indication of easing up on the pressure.  How Stiles knew the location of his latest hide out, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirt of Beacon Hills, he would never know despite the fact he had asked.

There was a deep and urging need for sleep. Being Alpha to a whole new set of pups, with the addition of a Kanima and a riled group of hunters, meant he was awake most hours of the day. Isaac wasn’t home for a change, opting to hide in Erica’s house for a couple of hours and it was the perfect chance for Derek to catch up on the hours of rest he had missed.

Apparently, the universe had a different plan for him.

“Deal, although I don’t know where I would do it in the future, it’s not like I can do anything at my house. You know, Sheriff father and all”

Derek snorted, crawling across the space to sit besides Stiles.

This was when Derek turned into the bad guy, or at least the jaded hero. Any responsible twenty-three year old wouldn’t allow a sixteen year old to smoke weed in their bedroom, but Derek didn’t care much for moral circumstance. If Stiles wanted alcohol, Derek would buy it for him because no one in their right mind would willingly supply the sheriff’s son with products they shouldn’t have. Sometimes the teen just needed a break and Derek could supply it.

His moral compass had always been a little wonky. Never would he let harm come to Stiles, or those in his pack, but that hadn’t stopped him from threatening to kill or maim any of the werewolf teens who even thought about revealing themselves. Nothing would stop him from doing so either.

Very little harm could come from this as it was.

Taking the join between his lips, Derek flicked his thumb once, twice, over the wheel of the lighter Stiles had given him, cupping his hand around the naked flame and waiting for the end to catch. It did, a wisp of smoke starting to coil from the end.

“I didn’t think werewolves could get high…or drunk, or anything other than a healthy state.”

Inhaling the smoke, eyes slipping closed; Derek let the burn linger in his lungs before allowing it to slither from his nostrils like melting silver.

The great thing about having control, was being able to override default systems found in werewolf genes. Having control meant if a werewolf wanted to get drunk, then they could get drunk or high without the toxins being dissolved and dispersed from their systems. That was until control slipped and they sobered up pretty quickly. It was a failsafe, control kept them from healing in human form to stay incognito. A few pack members in New York had taught him the loop holes in the system, and learning anything, at that time in his life, that could make him forget himself for just two seconds acted as a saving grace.

“I learnt a few tricks, and no, I will not teach them to Scott.” The only reason he was doing this was because there was something similar to a debt running between them, after Stiles had held him above water for two hours.

“Open your mouth and inhale. It’s going to burn and you’re going to cough but at least this will help you get used to it.” Derek said, edging closer to Stiles who opened his mouth obediently. The teenager flinched when Derek took another drag and cupped his hands around Stiles’ jaw. He was even more surprised when Derek leaned in, lips pressing open mouthed against Stiles’ to breathe the smoke into him.

In a twisted way it was like blowing up a balloon, but this was slow and easy with only a little at a time. Dosage control for the first time druggie.

As predicted, Stiles choked, though not as badly as he would have if he had taken a full straight drag. Derek placed a hand on his shoulder, easing him back against the pillows.

“Are you okay?” Stiles nodded, blinking, and for once speechless.

“Yeah , don’t waste that stuff, I’m the one who bought it remember” Stiles said wagging his finger at Derek, who quirked his lip and leaned back in to repeat the exchange.

There was something about sharing the same toxic breath, something strangely intimate in a positively deadly way. The silver snake wound its way through Derek’s windpipe, out his mouth and down into Stiles to nestle at the bottom of the other’s lungs.

This time, instead of saving each other’s lives, they were forgetting them. Derek didn’t ask Stiles why he had the gear, or how he got it. Frankly it was none of his business. There was no point playing the responsible adult when he had done stuff similar, if not worse, during his late teens, and no one liked a hypocrite.

 Maybe Derek liked the less law abiding citizen Stiles could become, or maybe there was some oddly seductive about doing something shady with the sheriff’s son.

Who knew that that could be a turn on?

 For the first time in years, Derek allowed his control to be used to block out the filters and allow himself to be lifted. The blankets felt unusually soft under his fingers, and Stiles was so warm. Warm like freshly run bath water, welcoming and still.  All his senses went foggy, the range short circuited so only a few worked properly.  Derek didn’t realise his irises were glowing red under hooded eye lids.

Eventually, they gave up with verbal communication, too wrapped up in their own bubbles. Too submersed in pools of poisoned syrup.

Stiles grabbed Derek, fingers fisted in his white sleeveless top to pull him back in to share the smoke.  Their noses bumped together and their mouth to mouth exchange was growing sloppy. Stiles giggled when Derek missed his lips to accidentally mouth his cheek.  Instead of cupping his hands around Stiles’ face to create a funnel, Derek let them rest of Stiles’ knees. The fabric of his jeans was rough and like nothing Derek could remember feeling before.

The joint had burnt down to burn his skin and Derek ground it out on the floor. They sat, forehead to forehead, Stiles’ hands flat on Derek’s chest with the Alpha’s hands curled tightly under the teen’s knees.

“Are you smiling?” Stiles laughed, thumb coming up to pull at the corner of Derek’s lip, because yes, there was a toothy smile of the werewolf’s face. Derek snorted, snapping at Stiles’ thumb teasingly.

“Ouchy, don’t bite, biting isn’t nice.” Stiles whined, falling forward boneless.

“I’m the big bad wolf remember.” Stiles wasn’t listening to Derek and Derek wasn’t completely sure what he was saying made any sense.

“You are so warm.” Stiles hummed into Derek’s shoulder, hands accidentally falling to the waistband of Derek’s grey sweats, fingers tangling in the draw string. Derek hummed, the shift of weight tilting the balance and sending him onto his back, Stiles draped over him with no intention of moving.  Not that Derek minded, he was past minding. 

Suddenly the pattern of Stiles’ plaid shirt was a lot more interesting than before, had it always been that vibrant shade of green? The weaves of fabric were more like race tracks for Derek’s fingers to follow.

“Do you want another joint or are we leaving it?” Derek said when he felt the high drifting from him, probably a little faster than Stiles even with the control on his system.

“No point in wasting it.” Pushing Stiles up, Derek sat, repeating his previous action. Once the joint was ready, he grabbed Stiles, yanking the teen into his lap and pushing one end of the joint between his lips. Knees pressed tightly into his hipbones and ankles locked against the small of his back.

“You can do it yourself this time.” Derek said, hovering the lighter flame until the second joint caught.  Stiles managed to inhale without choking this time, holding the smoke in his mouth. Instead of inhaling fully, Stiles pushed his fingers into Derek’s mouth, the wolf allowing his head to be tilted back, mouth open wide so Stiles could blow into him.

Derek laughed at the lack of coordination.

“You’re laughing.” Stiles said gleefully, voice an octave higher.

“Worse things have happened.”

They passed the joint between them, Stiles accidentally burning Derek’s hip and shoulder at one point. By the time the second joint had burnt out, Derek was half asleep again, lounged back in his nest with Stiles lying between his legs, head resting under his collar bone. His sweatpants are riding dangerously low on his hips and there was no doubt that they would both be a bit awkward when they came round.

Before falling asleep fully, Derek heard the rattle of the warehouse door closing, followed by footsteps on the stairs meaning Isaac had returned home. But Stiles was passed out right there, and his warmth was more than enough to send Derek into a comfortable sleep. 


End file.
